


Overseas

by Lovedmoviesb



Category: Pitch (TV 2016)
Genre: Bawson - Freeform, Canon Divergent, F/M, Ginny and Mike on vacation, Pitch Valentine's Exchange 2021, mistaken couple, what if Mike got traded?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-10
Updated: 2021-02-10
Packaged: 2021-03-16 19:15:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29337399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lovedmoviesb/pseuds/Lovedmoviesb
Summary: Ginny and Mike take a break from baseball to enjoy the sights overseas. A case of mistaken identity forces them to reconsider their relationship.
Relationships: Ginny Baker & Mike Lawson, Ginny Baker/Mike Lawson
Comments: 1
Kudos: 26
Collections: Pitch Valentine's Gift Exchange 2021





	Overseas

**Author's Note:**

  * For [himbocastiel (badritual)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/badritual/gifts).



Ginny Baker had only left the United States one time prior, and completely by accident. Livan and Sonny insisted on taking her for a night out after her break up with Noah. Shots of tequila turned into bar hopping, and somehow they’d all ended up in Tijuana. It wasn’t Ginny’s proudest moment admittedly, but it was also far from her worst. It had been worth the lecture Blip gave them all in the car as he picked them up sometime around sunrise. Hungover, tired, and aching, Ginny had retired to the brand new bed in her brand new apartment and realized immediately that she didn’t miss her ex. Her sleep was deep and unhindered, and despite one hell of a hangover, Ginny woke the next day feeling better than she had in months. 

While that night was a blur, Ginny was sure that she would remember this trip in stunning clarity. For one thing, she wasn’t drinking, and for another, being in another country afforded her a relative anonymity she hadn’t had in over a year. What Ginny did not anticipate was how bystanders might view her without the veil of fame. 

“What a cute couple you are!” An older woman with sterling gray hair glanced up from her place on a bench outside Kings Cross Station, smiling as though she recognized the pair in front of her. 

The accent was so novel to Ginny’s ears that it took a moment to even register what the tiny Scottish woman just said. Emotions ran through her in a jolt; amazement that she hadn’t been recognized, confusion at the sentiment, embarrassment at the blush that rushed to her cheeks. 

(There was also a healthy dose of joy from the innocuous observation. Ginny was doing her damndest not to linger on that.)

It was warm by London standards but cold to Ginny. The game overseas had come and gone, an unremarkable win over the Astros. The goal had been to capitalize on Ginny’s international acclaim, an end supported by the Padres front office and the MLB as a whole. She didn’t mind that so much. She could smile for the cameras in her sleep at this point, could pitch under the lights of any stadium. The best part wasn’t the game, or the after party. The best part was the week-long break after it, and the person she chose to take it with. 

Mike Lawson, former Padre and Ginny’s former captain, was quick to muster a polite response. 

“You think so?” he flashed his crooked, charming grin at the diminutive Scottswoman. 

“Absolutely,” she smiled back. “Always nice to see young love.”

“He’s not that young,” Ginny found her wits at last, if only to insult her old catcher. It was familiar territory. Lord knows Ginny needed it right now. Nothing about her relationship with Mike Lawson felt familiar anymore. 

It wasn’t as though they’d lost touch since his trade to Chicago. They maintained a relationship via text and calls and the occasional Facetime chat. It was even fun the handful of times they’d come up against one another. While Ginny missed staring at Mike from sixty and a half feet away behind a catcher’s mask, the look on his face when she’d first managed to strike him out was all too satisfying. Mike was still Mike, confident to the point of near cockiness, prone to bad moods and sullenness, but also wide grins and easy rolling chuckles that couldn’t help but make Ginny laugh right along with him. When he told her he’d head to London to show her around, she didn’t think much of it. But now...

“Well, with age comes wisdom.” Their mistaken fan beamed wider still, looking at them not as ball players but a couple like all the others strolling past Kings Cross Station. “Better hold onto that.” 

Words escaped Ginny once more and her blush further deepened. Mike stepped closer to her, his bulk pressed close. 

“Thank you,” Mike told their fan, waving as he steered them back off into the crowd. Ginny walked beside him, wondering why her blood was suddenly pumping like she’d just ran the bases at a full sprint. 

(It might have been the smell of Mike’s cologne. It had that effect, whether she liked it or not).

“You know, rookie,” Mike began as they walked in step down the road, “I know I’m not a billionaire, but I can’t be that bad.”

“I’m not a rookie anymore,” Ginny answered reflexively. “And what are you talking about?”

He tilted his head, his brow raising. “I’m talking about you looking like you ate something sour after that little old lady said we were cute.”

Ginny swallowed thickly, her throat run dry. “I’m not upset,” she deflected. “Surprised she didn’t know who we are, maybe.”

Mike chuckled. “Thought that was the point of this. A week of just being normal.”

Ginny huffled deeper into her sweater, feeling colder still. “It is.” 

In fact, it was far too normal. Mike put her at ease with seemingly no effort. She was enjoying this, walking around doing nothing in particular, waking up without a schedule, eating without a strict diet. Comfort settled around her shoulders like a warm blanket. It was softening her edges, leaving space for a dangerous realization. 

“You keep scowling like that and people are going to think I’m a bad boyfriend,” Mike quipped, nudging her with his shoulder. 

Ginny shivered, hazarding what she hoped was a believable smile. “As if you could get me, old man.”

Something flashed in Mike’s dark eyes then, a flicker of what almost looked like a challenge. 

“I bet I could,” he said, pulling his expression into his familiar game-face glower. “If that scrawny ex of yours could--”

“Oh?” Ginny scoffed, coming up completely short. “You got something to say, Lawson?”

Mike rose to meet her. “I’m just saying, he didn’t look like he could handle you.” His hands flexed, the fingers twitching before curling into a loose fist.

“Who says I need handling?” she prodded at once, heating up.

“That’s not what I meant, Baker,” Mike huffed, clearly irritated. “I just mean that you didn’t match.”

“You’ve got a lot of nerve,” Ginny snapped, folding her arms over her chest. “All the women I’ve seen hanging around you. My agent? Your ex?”

“Baker…” Mike warned. 

Ginny wasn’t hearing any of it. “At least I make  _ new _ mistakes, Mike. Not just repeating the same ones over and over.”

The silence between them was immediate and charged. They stopped walking to face one another. People jostled by, hastening away from what was clearly the beginnings of a fight. 

Mike sighed, his hand tugging roughly at the wiry hairs of his beard. Ginny braced herself for a scathing comeback. She was completely unprepared for his next words. 

“I’m sorry,” he said pointblank. His voice softened along with the lines in his forehead. He looked suddenly vulnerable, like the 30-something year old man he was and not the hardened veteran of baseball. “Ginny, you know that’s not what I meant.”

The anger began to ebb out of her. “What  _ did _ you mean?” she prompted, inhaling shakily. 

“I meant I miss you, rook,” Mike told her. “And maybe I’m a little jealous that there was someone else taking up your time.”

It was as effective as a gut punch. Ginny stared in disbelief. 

“You were with your ex--”

“For about ten minutes. Then I came to my senses.” Mike shrugged, his cheeks flushing. “Might be all that cold air in Chicago,” he joked. 

“Must be really damn cold to get through that hard head of yours,” Ginny observed. 

Mike snorted. “It’s not San Diego,” he admitted. 

“Do you miss playing with us? The team, I mean,” Ginny stammered. 

“Of course,” Mike chuckled. “But maybe...maybe it was for the best.” He looked off, unable to hold her gaze. “You want to go get a drink?” he asked. 

It was dangerous territory, an invitation to be in one another’s company without distraction. Ginny found that the idea did not scare her. 

“If you’re buying,” Ginny answered. She jostled him this time, hoping it put him at ease. 

The tension returned in spades when they found a pub. It was packed to the gills, people all gathered to watch some band Ginny didn’t recognize. Ginny shrugged out of her jacket, aware of Mike pointedly not looking at her as she jiggled out of her outerwear. Mike guided her through the crowd, his wide palm flat against her back between her shoulder blades. She did her best to keep her steps steady while Mike ordered them two pints. He gripped them both, nodding at her to follow. 

The booth in the back was little more than a bench made of a plank of wood between two short pillars, but it served its purpose. Mike was warm against her, the beer cold in her sweating palms. A memory came back unbidden, the last time they’d shared a drink. She had been so sure that he was going to kiss her, so unprepared for what that could mean. But he’d only hugged her tight and pressed his lips to the side of her head. In the morning, he was gone, leaving Blip as the captain and Ginny on her own. 

“You good?” Mike asked, watching her intensely over his glass.

Ginny took a sip of her own to steady herself. “I’m good,” she assured him. 

Mike gulped down a mouthful of beer. A bit of foam got trapped in his beard. Ginny smirked at the sight. Mike rolled his eyes, wiping it away with the back of his hand. 

“You know Baker, I was thinking--”

The sounds of the band starting up startled them both. They watched as the crowd crushed towards the raised platform serving as a stage. 

“What?” Ginny asked, shouting over the music. 

Mike shook his head, chuckling. “Not the best place for a talk,” he admitted, leaning in closer to be heard. 

“Maybe not,” Ginny admitted. Not that she minded. Mike’s body was angled towards hers, his arm wedged between the wall and her. She remembered the feel of that arm around her, had spent nearly a year comparing it to a much thinner limb. She lifted her glass again, taking a deep draw. 

The drums kicked in and Ginny could feel it in her blood, mixing with the taste of beer, the scent of Mike, and his heady presence. 

“We can go,” he offered, his lips nearer to her face than they’d been in long months. 

Ginny shrugged, hiding behind her glass. “This is fine,” she told him, leaning closer still. 

A fleeting thought crossed her mind, the question of what the little old train station woman might say if she saw them now. Mike’s free hand was millimeters from Ginny’s leg. It would take almost no effort to reach down and touch it, to lace her fingers with his. She watched the fingers flex, imagining them around the laces of a ball. Ginny swallowed again. She raised her gaze to find Mike looking right at her. His pupils were blown out, the brown irises a thin line. She knew she was as flushed as he was, warm for reasons that had nothing to do with the crowd around them. 

“This seems familiar,” he hedged, voice low and thick and deep. 

Ginny chanced a look at the people around them. Everyone was facing the stage, singing along to the bawdy rock song. She turned back to Mike. He was frozen, still watching her. Slowly, Ginny moved closer, sliding her body along the bench until there was no space left between them. 

“It does,” she tilted her chin to whisper in his ear, her pride spiking when he shivered. 

Mike’s hand closed in on her waist, following the curve just above the swell of her ass. Ginny let out a gasp, sure he could hear it and sure that she didn’t care. 

“It’s your call, Ginny,” he said, throat tight. “Are we going to do this or--”

She set her glass down on the narrow table in front of them then turned back to Mike. Quickly as she could, she pressed her lips to his. She missed her mark, kissing the corner of his mouth and his bearded cheek. Mike froze, his fingers clenching at her back. 

“Do you want to do this?” she asked him, foreheads brushing. 

His beer almost spilled as he slammed it down on the table. His suddenly free hand cupped her chin. His palm was cool against her as he drew her in, erasing the question with a proper kiss. Ginny eagerly capitalized on the opportunity, plunging her tongue in with reckless abandon. Mike met her, drawing her closer, kissing her with a force that left her trembling. 

It was better than she imagined it could have ever been. It was better than Noah, better than Trevor, better than any kiss that had ever been pressed to her lips in her quarter century of life. This was Mike, bold and boisterous and sexier than he had any right to be. This was Mike who’d gone from hero to mentor to friend quicker than she could have ever anticipated. 

(This was Mike, who she was fairly certain she’d been in love with since the second start of her career, whether she was ready to admit that to herself or not.)

They broke for air, gasping before diving back in, twisting together so tightly that it was almost painful. Mike’s hand trailed down from her jaw and over her shoulder, sliding along her arm and wrist before finding her hand. He laced their fingers together and Ginny’s heart skipped a beat, joining the frantic rhythm of the drums echoing in her ears. She pulled back just an inch, desperate for air, for something to cool the feeling boiling in her veins. 

Mike looked as though he felt the same. His eyes opened then fluttered back closed, the long lashes brushing her cheeks as he turned his face against hers. 

“Shit, Ginny,” he muttered. “You don’t know how long--”

The song changed, getting louder still. Ginny began to giggle, joy making her head spin more than all the beer in the bar ever could. She dusted kisses along his bearded cheek, hugging him to her. 

“Watch the band with me,” she suggested. 

Mike stared at her like she’d hit him in the head with her screwball. Ginny clung tighter to his hand, raising it to kiss the back. 

“Just be with me,” she pressed. “We can figure it out.” For now, she just wanted to be on vacation.

Mike took her point. “Ok,” he agreed, relaxing in fractions. 

It took some finesse to maneuver so she could sit against him, his arm over her shoulder. Ginny handed him his beer, raising her own. He knocked their glasses against one another, grinning at her with something like disbelief. 

Someone in the crowd turned back towards them, recognition flashing across his face. It was no time at all before his phone was out and pointed at them. Mike tensed, but Ginny leaned against him. 

“Smile,” she instructed, waving at the fan. 

Mike mirrored her, chuckling as the excitement on the amateur photographer’s face. He watched as the kid disappeared back into the crowd, looking at Ginny with bemusement. 

“What was that?” he asked, curving a brow again. 

She only shrugged. “Of course he wants a picture. We’re a cute couple.”

Her words hung between them for a moment, the question lingering. Mike’s grin erased it, along with his gentle kiss. 

“Yeah we are,” he agreed easily, settling back against the wall. “Remind me to find that lady sometime and thank her.”

Ginny laughed, setting her drink down in lieu of leaning against Mike. “We’ll have to send her a gift for sure,” she agreed. 

The music played on, the crowd swaying to the rhythm. Ginny knew that there would be questions to answer, interviews to give, logistics to work out. That was a problem for another day. For now, it was enough to be in London in some sticky pub, just so long as Mike was by her side.

(As it turned out, there was no place that couldn’t be improved with Mike’s presence. It was a lesson Ginny was more than happy to learn.) 

  
  



End file.
